The door to the bedroom clicks shut behind me. I have my phone to my ear before I reach the stairwell, placing a call to Bernado, one of my clients in South America. He's a man who easily divulges information for a fair price. Bernardo's loyalties are bought with money and blood alone. Lucky for me, I have plenty of both at my disposal. The phone rings once before a gruff voice answers.

"Bernado," I say. "I have a favor to ask and if you can help me, I'll cut the cost of our trade by twenty percent."

There's a pause. "Twenty-five," he says.

I laugh on my way down the stairs. "I don't negotiate. I need you to find me a man named Sebastian Cortez from Columbia."

"Cortez?"

"Yes, some filthy cartel leader, and I'll need his information within the hour or your trade deal goes up by twenty-five percent."

"But I—"

I hang up just as I pass Donovan speaking to several of the guards. "Donovan." I clap his shoulder. "Ms. Estrada is tied to my bed." He lifts a brow. "Go untie her, stand guard outside my room. If she tries to leave, choke her out."

"Yes, sir."

I carry on into my office, humming. I am so very excited. It's been such a long time since I've had a guest.

It's midafternoon when the black SUV pulls in front of my house, and I'm anxiously waiting at the front door to greet Mr. Cortez. The door swings open and Igor grabs the man by his shoulders, yanking him out onto the snowy drive. I must say, I'm slightly disappointed, he doesn't look at all as I imagined. He's just an average man in an average suit and an ugly face. I expected something much more... dignified.

His beady eyes lock on me as he's dragged up the stairs and his face drains of its color. It is so very flattering when a man with such a horrendous reputation is seized by fear in my presence.

"Mr Cortez," I say jovially, "how nice of you to come."

He grunts against the gag and I pat his back as I usher him in. "I do hope your flight was nice."

I catch Igor glance at me, and I cock a warning brow. "Igor, please show our guest to the dining hall. Make certain he's secured at the head of the table." I lean down eye level with Sebastian. "I like to make sure my guests are made to feel like a king."

Sebastian struggles against Igor but eventually gives in, walking down the hallway with his arms tied behind his back. Ah, how I do love the suspense of it all—what will he do when he sees her, what will she do? With a smile, I go into the living room and pour myself a drink, taking a seat while I wait for my little kitty.

I'm halfway finished with my brandy and cigar by the time Donovan walks into the room, escorting a very angry looking Camilla. I push to my feet, my gaze locking with his. He nods before leaving the room.

"Still mad I see?" I say with a smile, swirling my whiskey in my glass.

Camilla glares at me before heading for the sideboard to snatch the bottle of vodka. "No, I'm fucking skipping around with Donovan trailing after me. Tonight, we're going to braid each other's hair."

"Sounds delightful."

She lifts the bottle in a toast. "Here's to captive life...again." Tipping the bottle up, she swallows three large gulps. "I guess I should have run when the door was very briefly open."

I step behind her, trailing my fingers along the curve of her neck. "You are not a captive, krasivaya."

She laughs. "I'm sure as shit not free."

"Do you suggest I allow you to go to Mexico when I know you will die?"

She spins around to face me and huffs a laugh. "I'm Camilla Estrada. I'm safer in Mexico than I am here..."

I sweep my finger down her cheek. She's so innocent, really. She's only been tainted by violence and blood. And there are much worse things to be tainted by... "There is no greater protection than being my queen, I assure you." I lean in and gently kiss her lips. "Do you doubt me?"

Her eyes close on a staggered breath. "No, but I'm not a pretty trophy to be locked away, Ronan. Don't force me to abandon Gabriel. It's not something I can forgive."

"Do not worry about your brother, little kitty." I go to kiss her again but she pulls away. My jaw tightens, and while I want to grab her and force her submission, I will not. Instead, I take her hand. "Come," I say, pulling her across the room. She attempts to snatch her hand away and I stop, glaring over my shoulder at her. "We have a dinner guest, so please, do try to maintain some form of civilized manner."

"Now?" She folds her arms over her chest. "You want to parade me in front of a guest now?"

I smirk. "Yes, isn't it quite exciting?"

"I don't know why I'm even surprised by anything you do anymore." She gives in a little, following me down the hallway toward the dining room. Igor and Donovan stand guard outside the doorway, hands clasped in front of them. A sudden thrill shoots through me before we step inside the room. What will the little kitty do? I can't wait to see...

I extend my arm, waiting for her to enter the dining room. She takes one step then freezes in the doorway, and I smile. At the head of the long table sits Sebastian Cortez, bound and gagged. A sheen of sweat coats his forehead, his eyes wide and bloodshot. My hand grazes the small of Camilla's back in attempt to have her step farther into the room but she doesn't budge. Her chest rises in labored swells as she slowly walks into the room, her haunted eyes locked on Sebastian.

"Not so dangerous now," I say with a smile, "is he?"

He watches her watching him. She stumbles before she stops a few feet away from him. The air of confidence that constantly swirls around her has vanished, almost as though it's been sucked into a voracious vacuum, and for some reason, that makes me very angry.

"Do you remember me?" she asks. "No, I suppose not, it has been twelve years."

Sighing, I round the table. Sebastian's dark eyes track my movements, and when I stop in front of him, his nostrils flare. "You will answer her," I say before I grab the gag and yank it out. He coughs and spits.

"I remember," he says calmly, eyeing Camilla. "I heard whispers that the Estrada's were gaining power. I had no idea you'd climbed quite so high. But I can see why." He drags his eyes over her body.

I slap him on the back of the head. "Don't look at her."

He drops his gaze to the table. "You look just like your mother," he says to her, a sick satisfaction in his voice.

Camilla turns away and takes a deep breath, bracing both hands on the table as she drops her chin to her chest. "What do you think is going to happen here, Cortez?" Her voice is cold, controlled. Slowly, she lifts her head and stares at him, a small smile pulling at her lips. "Here you are, bound—a long way from your precious Colombia and your army of men..." She walks around the table, stopping beside him and bringing her face inches from his. "And you dare to bring up my mother." He stares silently back at her. "I owe you a debt, and by the time I'm done with you, it'll be paid tenfold." Her fingers wrap around the hilt of a steak knife before she slams it into his shoulder. A muffled cry slips between his gritted teeth. "I want nothing more than to slit your throat and watch you bleed all over the table," she whispers in his ear. "But that would be a kindness, wouldn't it?" She takes another knife from a place setting and rams it into his other shoulder before she turns away and paces the length of the table, clenching her fists over and over.

"You're going to kill me," he says, his head still down, "so get on with it."

She whirls around, a manic grin on her face. "So eager to die."

A pained laugh slips past his lips. "Your father cried when I killed Emilio."

It's like watching a match touch gasoline. The uncertainty she wore only moments ago disappears, and a beautiful wave of anger replaces it. She storms over to Sebastian, her hips swaying with each step. She yanks the blade from his shoulder and plunges it into his chest. His head lifts, his eyes go wide. She stabs him again and again, like a shark in a feeding frenzy. Blood covers his white shirt, the table linens, the walls. Sebastian's body slumps forward in the chair, and though I'm certain his heart must no longer be beating, she keeps going, driven by unseen demons.

When she finally collapses to her knees with the bloodied knife clutched in her hand, she's gasping for breath. I've seen Camilla kill for sport, she takes pride in the torture, the pain. This–my gaze drifts from Camilla to Sebastian–this was driven by hate. This man hurt her. Broke her possibly, and the thought makes my chest go tight. I crouch down next to her, wiping at the crimson drops splattered across her cheek. "You look so pretty dressed in the blood of your enemy, krasivaya."

She glances up before grabbing my face and slamming her lips against mine. There's a sense of desperation, of need in this kiss. Something I shouldn't want, but do. I fist her hair. The kiss grows deeper, harder. Our teeth clash together, bringing the brutality we both crave before she breaks away from me and rests her forehead against mine.

"Thank you," she breathes, scratching her nails along my jaw. "You have no idea what you just gave me."

"Enlighten me." I cup her cheek and she pulls back to stare at me.

"He killed my family."

There is so much pain within her words, and while I often revel in the pain of others—I cannot revel in hers. Dare I say, I feel sympathy, compassion for her, and oh, what a dangerous thing this is. She weakens me in the most destructive of ways, pulling me within her violent waves and blood-soaked promises. I do believe I am falling for her, and what does a man such as myself do when someone poses such a threat? Kill them or make them your slave...

The wait staff knocks on the door. I glance up to find them staring wide-eyed at the massacre before them, our plates in their hand. This is, after all, the first time I've had someone slaughtered at my dinner table.

"I'm quite famished," I say, rising to my feet and offering Camilla a hand.

The staff watch as I pull Camilla's chair out, then my own, and unfold a blood-splattered napkin, laying it across my lap. I nod toward the table and they reluctantly file in, placing our plates down. One waiter stands frozen, holding the third plate. I motion toward Sebastian. "Just put it over there."

He takes a deep breath and quickly sets the China on the table, scooting it in front of Sebastian.

Camilla cracks a smile, shaking her head. "So morbid."

I grab my knife and fork, cutting into the pheasant. "Tell me about your family," I say. Her brow wrinkles, her head tilting subtly to the side as though she doesn't understand why I'm asking. "It's just casual conversation, Camilla. Tell me, what was it like growing up in Colombia?"

She shrugs one shoulder. "It was perfect...until it wasn't." She takes a sip of wine. "Did you grow up in this life, Ronan? Or did you find your way into it?"

"Both..."

"So cryptic." A slight smile works over her full lips. "For me, it was both as well. I was twelve before I even realized what my father did was...unsavory."

"For some of us, bloodshed is normalcy." I glance at Sebastian before I take another bite of food, dabbing the corners of my mouth with my napkin.

"I was my father's princess. Protected. Sheltered." She leans back in her chair, clutching the wine glass in front of her. "But a drug lord's daughter will never be safe. I'm not sure if he was naïve or arrogant."

"My father was arrogant." I stab the meat. "Arrogant and very naïve..." I lift a brow as I shove the piece of juicy pheasant inside my mouth.

"It seems to be the flaw of powerful men," she says, tracing her finger around the edge of her glass as she glances toward Sebastian. "Why did you kill your father?"

"He did not deserve the little power he held. He would have run the Bratva into the ground." I take a breath. "And most importantly, he would have stood in my way."

She nods slowly. "Did you love him?"

"No." My gaze sets hard on hers. "I had no respect for him."

"Love and respect are not the same thing, Ronan. And well, a child's love is heavily engrained, is it not?"

I take a sip of wine, letting the heavy tannins coat my tongue. "You act as though you believe I have a conscience. I assure you, little kitty, I do not."

She leans forward and braces her elbows on the table. "I consider myself ruthless, but I have my loyalties. Everyone is motivated by something, Ronan." She taps her nails against her glass. "I refuse to believe that you truly have none."

I laugh. The motivations I have, she will not understand because she has too much heart. "Self-gain is what motivates me. That and that alone."

"And what happens when you have it all? When the world bows at your feet, what will you do?"

I glance at her untouched plate growing colder by the second. "Lost our appetite, have we?"

"I prefer to drink after revenge, and you are avoiding my question."

"I imagine I'll vacation in Fiji." I grin wide, pleased with my ridiculous response.

"You in swim shorts..." she laughs, "in Fiji. You might turn to ash in the sun." She pushes up from her chair and rounds the table. Goose bumps prickle my arm when she rakes a single nail along the collar of my shirt. "Of course, the view would be spectacular." Her lips press against my throat followed by the scrape of her teeth, and then she's walking through the door.

I sit, eating my meal with Sebastian's body at the head of my table. Once I finish, I bid him farewell, ordering the servants to clean up the room on my way to my office. I've barely sat down at my desk when I hear Chopin echoing loudly down the corridor. I lean back in my chair, close my eyes, and listen to the haunting melody wondering what she's doing.

After the prelude, I push up from my chair and follow the sound toward the library.

The door's cracked and from the hallway I can see Camilla perched on the piano, pretending to conduct an orchestra with one hand while the other tips back a bottle of vodka. When I push the door open, my jaw tenses. My records lay scattered over the floor, several cracked and broken. I adjust my cufflinks and clear my throat as I make my way toward her. "Camilla?"

A sassy smile flickers across her lips when she glances over her shoulder at me. "Ronan," she sings while slamming the near empty bottle of vodka onto the piano top. I cringe at the sound of a crack, although... I revel in her loss of control.

"Why are my records scattered about the room?"

"I was looking for music. You need more variety, Russian."

I hold out my arms and toss my head back as I listen to the enchanting melody. "There is no other music than this."

She laughs and spins around on the piano top to face me, patting my chest. "You're so cute," she slurs. The smell of vodka wafts through the air causing my nose to wrinkle.

I grab her hand, thread my fingers through hers, and pull her down from the piano. She snatches the vodka before I move her to the chaise at the side of the room. "Drink with me," she says, thrusting the almost empty bottle toward me.

"No."

"You're no fun." She tips the bottle back, finishing the last of it.

"How did Sebastian kill your family?" Is that terrible of me to ask? Possibly, but my curiosity has been peaked, and honesty flows with alcohol. Tragedies and traumas shape us, and I want to know every bit of darkness that shaped my little kitty.

She stands and staggers back to the piano, struggling to lift the shiny top. She shoves her hand inside the crack and retrieves a new bottle. "I need more vodka for this conversation," she says, unscrewing the lid and taking a large gulp. "He shot them."

"How original..." I sigh. "Why were you and Gabriel spared?"

"Spared?" she laughs. "No, we ran. One of our Mexican maids got us out of the country. If not for Maria..." She waves the bottle through the air, vodka sloshing over her hand. "I would be dead. No cartel for you to steal, and then I wouldn't be here. Cheers, Maria!" she says, spreading her arms wide as she lifts the bottle in a sloppy toast.

"I must send this Maria a thank you card."

A lopsided smile dances over her lips as she saunters toward me, tripping several times before she stops in front of me. Her arms wrap around my neck and she straddles me, leaning in close to my face.

"Maria's dead. You're pretty," she whispers, grinding against me. I glance down at her thighs, watching as her dress slowly rides up.

"Why are you drunk, Camilla?" I trail my finger along the curve of her neck, and she closes her eyes on a groan.

"I'm revenge-celebration drinking. It's good for you."

"I see."

"You should try it." She clumsily swipes her thumb over my bottom lip. "Let loose a little."

I grab her wrist and squeeze. "Ah, but that would mean I'd lose control, and trust me, you don't want to see me lose control. You may not survive."

"What if I do?" Her eyes flash. "What if I don't care?"

A short laugh slips through my lips. "Oh, I don't think you do..." I fist her hair, yanking her head to the side. "Your life depends on my holding onto that sliver of control, take that away and I know I will bleed you dry. I won't be able to help myself." I drag in a deep breath, my cock swelling at the thought of her ruby blood spilling over the floor, the perfect sound it would make, dripping in harmony with Chopin.

Her fingers rake into my hair and she presses her forehead to mine. "Why do you like to cut me, Ronan? What is it about the blood that makes you so hard?" she breathes against my lips, the scent of vodka on her breath.

I think back to my childhood. To my own tragedy that left me scarred, depraved. "The metallic smell," I whisper, my pulse steadily ticking up. "The taste. The feel of it." My grip in her hair tightens and I breath in a shuddering breath. "It feels so comforting. Warm and wet, a tangible bit of life leaving someone's body."

"Have you always liked it?" she asks quietly, stroking her fingers over the back of my neck.

"Since I was seven years old." My jaw clenches at the memory, the horror. The complete lack of control.

She lays her head on my shoulder. "I'm sorry," she says, her voice full of sympathy.

There's a moment, a vulnerable moment, where I want to tell her what happened. That terrifies me. Secrets are best kept hidden. Vulnerabilities never admitted to... I gently push her off of me and stand, smoothing out my shirt. "Come..." I head toward the door, but when I glance over my shoulder Camilla is still sitting on the chaise, glaring.

She tips the vodka back again. "Such a dick," she mumbles.

I snap my fingers and cock a brow. She lifts a middle finger. I sigh before throwing the door open and calling for Igor. "I'll see you shortly," I say before leaving the library and heading to my room.